


Wish

by silvereyedbitch



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvereyedbitch/pseuds/silvereyedbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A holiday tale for its general fluffiness</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wish

Disclaimer: Yeah, I still don’t own these characters. However, don’t hold C.S. Friedman responsible for the stories I put them through here on FF.

Summary: A nice little holiday tale of D&G with some fluff. Takes place after Tarrant’s supposed death at the keep.

Warnings: M/M, D&G, and just bad writing in general.

WISH

Of all the times in one’s year to be alone, the Eve of Yuletide has to rank somewhere between total despondency and suicidal ideation, Damien thought to himself as he watched the townsfolk scurrying by in the wintry streets. The snow had littered the ground in a glittering cascade of crystalline purity. Here and there, its perfection was marred by the small footprints of children. Evidence of their passing could be found anywhere the eye could roam. The lanes had been cleared, but the parks and smaller pathways remained covered in the beautiful, sparkling powder.  
In the center of this park where he had stopped to sit on a bench and brood, there stood a wondrous and ancient tree. Huge beyond any other nearby, its girth was such that it would take seven men standing at arm’s length to circumnavigate the trunk. What made it special, though, was its peculiar adornments. Its ample, strong limbs were bedecked with all manner of odds and ends. Placing a token of one’s past, or of a hopeful future, upon the branches was held as a means to invoke a blessing of one’s choosing. Or, to put it in childish terms, it was a wishing tree. No one remembered quite when the tradition began, but it had become very popular among Ernan society. Damien had once believed this to be pointless and silly; and in truth he still did. But lately, he had good reason to feel so lost at this time as to break down the barriers of his previous judgments.  
He watched as people young and old, families and singles, approached and placed their offering upon the tree. Most closed their eyes as they did this, another part of the superstition being that you had to place your offering while blinded to the world’s material plane. It made for a humorous sight at times, with people walking headlong into the wooded trunk or low hanging branches. He watched for an hour or so until the throng in the pathways had thinned before standing. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled forth his own offering, still reconsidering the act even before committing to it. The object shone under the lamplight and thrust memories at him that he could not decide if he desired or not. The Tarrant family crest seemed to almost glow in the low lighting, and the blade that rushed forth from the hilt of the dagger was achingly sharp even still. He considered it, and then looked to the tree. Sighing heavily, he made up his mind and began to walk toward the enormous trunk.  
He paused as he came within the influence of its coverage and gazed up through the heights of its branches, the stars almost blocked out by the foliage. And yet, almost in a direct line with him, there was a place in which, down the entirety of the tree, a single star shone down. Almost like a tunnel of light through the darkness. This is right, he reassured himself, This is right. And so he closed his eyes and held out the dagger, beginning to feel his way forward as so many of the townsfolk had done earlier while he watched from the bench.  
He walked slowly, perhaps 20 paces, before bumping into something. And upon looking down, he saw that he had run up on one of the many low hanging branches that suspended at about waist height. And there, firmly embedded to about a quarter of its length, was the dagger. He gazed stupidly at it for a moment before saying out loud, “Yeah, that’s about right.” And he almost laughed at what he imagined a certain adept might have to say about this. Except he had no laughter left within his heart…as he also had no adept with whom to share it. Where did that come from? he questioned. Brooding was not within his normal purview, but lately it seemed to come upon him at all times. Especially times involving reminiscences of the Hunter. And as he further examined what he had thought to be a passing notion, he realized that it was actually a quite real emotion.  
Oh… and then it made him hurt all the worse for the realization. So strange…how had he never guessed it? And then he braced himself. But all of the anger and hate and self-recrimination that he expected would soon follow…never showed. And after a few minutes, he quit expecting it. Why feel guilty now anyway, he thought to himself, It’s not as if it matters anymore. And that, then, was the crux of the matter. He felt an ache deep within himself loosen somewhat at his admission of feelings toward the Darkest Prince of Hell. Or at least he used to be. He mulled over his newly admitted feelings, wondering why he wasn’t even really all that surprised to finally discover the truth of them. But then, they were always there, weren’t they? And then, I wonder if he ever suspected? He snorted in derision, As if he would ever miss something as big as that. Why then, had he never said anything?  
Damien thought back to all of his interactions with the Hunter, colored as they were now with a new perspective. It would have gone against his Contract initially, he surmised. But after…? Why not say anything after? Perhaps because he always knew he would leave me, in the end. Just not leaving in the sense that it usually meant. This departure had been final, with no possible alternate endings. No happy reunions or such. Just the cold hollow feeling of one’s absence. If he were any other person, Damien could be sure he would see Tarrant again in the Everafter. But no. Who knows where he went? After such sacrifice, surely God had spared him the untold horrors that had awaited him earlier. There was so much good in him, but he was never able to push it past the shadows in his soul.  
Left with no other recourse than wishes and prayer, he decided to do both. Taking a knee at the side of the branch whereon the knife was displayed, he began. And his prayer was the kind of heartfelt devotion that didn’t even require words to convey. His God knew what was in his heart. He merely poured it forth and faced it in front of Him. His shame at these feelings was clearly in evidence, but he did nothing to hide them. And he did not repent of them. He showed forth his true self and asked only for understanding. Tears began to fall freely, some freezing to his face before they could fall to the earth. At one point, his eyes had opened for but a moment to gaze up through the snow covered boughs. The starlight was faint but discernible, and Damien felt no shame as he noted a passing stranger had observed his silent pleas. He closed his eyes again, determined to block out the world. He prayed for Gerald’s soul and all the goodness that could have resulted from him. If only… If only… Just please, Lord, please…let him be happy. I don’t think he ever really knew what happiness is. If I could wish for anything, then that would be it. Let him be happy for once.  
That last wish brought a fresh flood of grief to Damien. His newly acknowledged feelings freezing there beside him in the snow. How could he have never seen it? And how terrible it was to realize only now after he was gone! His thoughts were the repetitious variety most often taken by those in mourning. But the grief was therapeutic as it brought him back to his wish for the wishing tree. He found some small comfort in the thought that his wish might bring some infinitesimal measure of joy to an otherwise seemingly joyless man. Please let him be happy, Father. That is my only wish. I would do anything, go anywhere, for that boon.  
He knelt with head bowed for another minute or so, holding a moment of silence in respect for the departed. His head came up, but still his eyes remained closed as he felt a tingling in his chest. Almost a strange sort of vibration, somewhat familiar…perhaps fae-related? No. It was different than that. It was like taking something familiar and changing it just a small degree, to where it was still recognizable, but certainly different. Like a woman dying her hair. Different but the same. He mulled it over slowly. And then… The bond! Tarra…!!! he attempted to stand just as his lips were covered by the smooth, cold marble of the Hunter’s deep kiss.  
And he fell into the kiss with a passion that defied logic. It lifted him from within and yet weighed him down with a gravity that only those who dream can ever experience. Grief fell away. Doubts and indecision melted. All possibilities coalesced into one perfect moment for the ex-priest. And when lips parted, and his eyes opened to stare into the deep, mercurial silver that he had dreamed of every night since leaving the keep, he found he could barely breathe. The Hunter returned his stare almost warily at first, as if seeking any excuse from him to pull away. After a few moments of Damien’s speechlessness, however, he drew the burly knight into an extended embrace, saying only, “You are without a doubt the most pathetic excuse for a priestly knight I have ever had occasion to meet.” Damien barely managed to wheeze out a reply from the strength of the adept’s encircling arms, “I had a good teacher.” And he felt laughter without sound from the other man as Tarrant whispered, “Just so.”

E/N: Okay, I know it wasn’t great writing, but I just wanted to put out something fluffy for the holidays here. Take or leave it. LOL!


End file.
